What the fuck?
Oh.
A yellow citrus fruit has ripened and is ready to be picked. As usual, it's all dirty and has to be cleaned to be obvious.
For those who don't like sour fruits, you might want to check on some random not-so-traditional-British humour. Ah. Those immigrants.
I seriously need to do something about a particular physical urge. And not the conventional solution mind you...
Meh.
Nothing but sex on my mind for the past week. So annoying. Can't really focus. Almost every conversation I had during the week had something to do with sex.
I think I'm sexually deprived, lolz.
What does a hot guy do when he's not hot enough to get a date? He's sorta cute, sorta well built, sorta friendly, sorta metro, sorta everything. He has a bit of everything that would make a woman want to date him, but just not enough.
He turns gay.
It seems the quick switch of sexual orientation makes him delectably attractive to females for some inexplicable reason. Maybe it's the aura of unattainability. Maybe it's the stereotype of all the best guys being gay. Maybe girls just like the idea of dating men who fuck other men. Same way as guys like lesbos.
Apparently I have this reader who laughs at my suicidal ramblings. This is either extremely flattering, or annoyingly, uh, annoying. I don't know what to think. Who the fuck laughs like Maddox over stuff I write? Like, sibeh free people kambing here issit?
Apparently I taste like a pacifier. Thanks alot. Don't ask your ex these things. You want a sexy answer, ask them DURING.
My grandma makes spectacular pickled mango. I have the recipe. Somewhere. Ah. Here it is:
Take unripe mangoes and cut into a bazillion slivers. Soak in salt water for many hours. After those hours, take out and soak into salt and sugar solution in a sealed container. Leave be until you feel like eating, under which circumstances you should. Eat until your face shrivels from the extremely thick solution, or until you orgasm and die.
Abridged recipes are always fun.
Lingerie shops fascinate me. What exactly is it that makes all those clasps necessary? So cumbersome. I prefer chicks in sports bras, lolz.
I made an interesting discovery the other day. Apparently, there are such things as stick on bras. Apparently they are for wearing bareback gowns. Apparently, they cost a bomb each time and are not reusable. And from the packaging, I can tell they look rather stupid. Ah. Female fashion.
I need a new phone. No idea where to look. Meh.
An anal retentive person keeps a lot of ass, going by literal translation.
I need weirded relatives so I have more to write. My relatives are too normal sometimes. Be abnormal a bit, can?
Condoms actually look kinda silly. But I heard they are used extensively on camping trips as water storage devices. They stretch real well, apparently, holding up to 200 times their volume in water. Why they need to make a condom so strong is beyond me. Not like anyone could cum that much anyways.
Some psychological reactions to certain words certainly are very amusing. Like take the word 'lemon'. In a particular April and an O.C., they trigger an instantaneous lightup of features. The pulse increases just that little bit. The ears prick up, the eyes widen, the posture stiffens and raises. Like, what's so incredibly, er, incredible about a stupid yellow citrus fruit that would make them react that way? If I tried the word 'orange', no noted changes observed. So maybe it's the colour? Maybe, because 'banana' triggers something similar, increased in 'banana juice', but the word 'sunflower' probably only results in confusion. Maybe fruit is the answer. 'Apple' yields no results, but 'nuts' and 'melons' do. The results are indecisive. Ah. So confusing.
Paraphrase this: My cock in a hole is better than my nuts to your sole.
Meh.
I woulda done this last night, but for some reason, I didn't. I think it was because I was waiting for SOMEONE to come back online so we can deliberate. Oh well. Now's as good a time as any other.
It's been a month and a day since I have become unglued. Well, if you're thinking unglued in the sense of becoming thrown into mental disarray, you could say that. Of course, I've always been in some sort of disarrayed chaos-ness. Ah, digression.
Unglued as in single. No longer attached. Read: available. Woohoo!
In all seriousness, it was a good six months. I'm not gonna go into all those precise hours cuz I have a short attention span and will ramble off to how a day actually has slightly more than 24 hours due to calculations first noticed by, oh. Wait.
To a lovely lady by the name of Evon Terng Ee Wen, I guess I should say thank you. Thanks for everything. I think the people around me should thank you more, though, for that release you gave them from this suicidal, depressed, twistedly eville and hopelessly annoying maniac. Ask my parents. I was grinning like an insane dolt after that little message.
Indeed, it's quite difficult to write about it, seeing how the constant reminders to think about other things have finally sunk in. But I harbor no bitter feelings. We're still friends, that's important. Especially to a relatively friendless person like me. Besides, if I weren't a friend, we woulda had an interesting time on the ferris wheel, no?
I learned a lot, maybe a bit too much, about myself. And other people. And what it was like to be madly in love. Well, maybe madly isn't it, because I'm already mad. Strange was the way it came together. Stranger still the arrangements after it ended. How many would stick with these, I'm not so sure. But I suppose, being the unconventional pair, it's not too surprising.
I'm sorry for my often enough stupidity. I'm sorry that I too repeatedly pissed you off. I'm sorry if there wasn't enough chocs cuz I ate them. I'm sorry for apologizing so much and making it seem as if I didn't mean it. I'm sorry I apologized for the previous apology. Wait. D'oh!
Thank you for your patience with my overwhelming incompetence. Thank you for putting up with my sugar highs and random talking that probably embarassed the heck out of you. Thank you for confusing me constantly with high speed mandarin that still doesn't make much sense. Thank you for being horny, lolz. Thank you for the memories. And thank you, thank you, thank you for the recipocrated love that we shared.
Know that I still care for you. I'll be watching out for you. And know that I'm still your friend.
Now, if that seemed to absurd/mushy/psychopathical to you OTHER people, well, stuff it. We're weird, and I prefer it this way. You got a problem, then buy me a drink and see how far you'll get! Mwahahaha.
Meh.
Just thinking. Male gynaes probably don't have it as good as we think. They probably become so innured to pussy that it no longer excites them. They're probably gay.
Here's an extract from this month's Men's Health:
Sex is like a box of chocolates: Even the disappointments are pretty good. A new Italian study of 163 women shows that those who regularly eat chocolate report enhanced sex drive and sexual satisfaction. The research left open the possibility that those who enjoy chocolate are just more sensual in general.
Seems that I'm not exactly wrong in my motivations after all, eh?
Meh.
Was going to add this to the previous post, but since there are already comments there, I thought, why bother.
Men's Health magazine has this article that states that when you suffer a defeat, or undergo negative stress, your testosterone level drops. Along with that, sex drive. This afternoon, my testosterone levels (and the accompanying sex drive) took a serious hit. Now, it's basically negative. Ergh.
Why do I take this so hard? Well, actually I don't. It's probably the dissatisfaction of having wasted my time, and gotten excited over something that I SHOULD have known would not be in my favour in the first place. I hate false hope. I was given too much of that when I was a kid.
Yes, I know I'm spoilt. Maybe I should place myself into total denial of all pleasures. That SHOULD place interesting perspective on things.
In seventeen, August 2005 issue (yes, yes, some guys read it too, okay?), Malaysian edition, there was this story about this guy who comitted suicide. They also included a few things to note about a person that indicates potential suicide. What about signs that YOU might be feeling despondent enough to kill yourself? Sometimes, you just have no idea what you're gonna do, and suddenly you just do it. I'm getting worried.
Either that, or I'm just fickle.
Haven't eaten. Don't feel like eating. Wait, this feels exactly like I did in January. Excellent. See how I'll fix stuff up.
I may not be writing. Much confidence has been lost. Doesn't make any sense, but, ergh. I'm taking things too seriously, but for some reason, obstinate logic no longer works. Fuck.
ONE consolation, I suppose, was all the cool sexy stories they had in Men's Health. I think I'm gonna subscribe, lolz.
Meh.
First off, congrats to a Miss Liew Suet Li for getting a consolation place in the MPH Search for Young Writers 2005. How was the press conference? Ha, got interview leh...
Second, I think I'm pretty annoyed. I missed a day's worth of Geometry for nothing. Well, I got a cert that I don't need, and some sandwiches and canned coffee. Oh, also I have a box of banana milk. Wonderfulness.
Incase you're wondering, no. I did not win. Anything. Meh.
There are no words to describe my mood now. Wait, there are. But I cannot really state it. I'm no good with words apparently.
I want all or nothing.
Seems that I'll continue sharing this machine. Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck fuckety fuck.
Tis strange that this should affect me at all. I think it's the fact I still gotta share.
I hate sharing.
Meh.
Thoughts pervade my mind. As always. And always, both sides of the argument scream to be heard at the same time. Sometimes, I wish I wasn't a concious schizophrenic. It's quite complicated having to choose one of my many personalities to put on each time. But I suppose it is useful in a way. I ALMOST always have an appropriate response.
Right now, it's the thoughtful, almost docile, contemplator. Really wondering if I'm self delusional, or am I really like this. Then, the self righteous, incorrigible zealot inside will say to hell with them, I'm correct because I cannot be wrong. The revolutionary will agree with the zealot, because people should defy things solely because they can.
My parents don't take me seriously. Well, at least not when they should. They take all my jokes at face value and accuse me of being stuckup, arrogant, ignorant, and a whole plethora of stuff. Not that I'd blame them. The face I put on is one I decided on keeping at home after too long of having to put up with plenty of shit at home, and not retaliating against it. The nonchalant, I-couldn't-give-a-fuck-about-anything, it's-only-about-me face is the only one appropriate thing to do, because the few times I HAD behaved as a 'good son' would was met with a horrendous disappointment, and I don't take well to disappointments. So, I kinda gave up on that.
Do I hope to change anyone by behaving like this? I'm actually kinda counting on them NOT changing. It makes things simpler, that's for sure.
I hate being told I'm wrong, even if I am. So, I will refuse to listen, even if I should. And I learn things the hard way, which is technically the only way to learn things. More lessons were lost formally than they were learnt.
Potato salad is good.
I think it's time to take over the world. But in close introspection, it's actually not worth my while. This place is filled with fucked up people more suited as sausage grind than high-consumption individuals. The planet is rotting and smelly, and there are holes all over the place where they shouldn't be, and no holes where there should. I don't even like half the things on the surface, and all the real fun stuff is found under. Administration according to 'rules' is too tedious, and people whine all the time, but offer no amusement value. The few things worth saving, are just really not worth the investment.
Live to amuse me. That's the only thing you vermin are suited to do anyway.
I'm getting pissed with Creative. What the hell is so fucking complicated about making an mp3 player that doesn't fucking get fucked up screwed every fucking time I try to use it for longer than 3 months!?!?! Well, actually, this is really the first thing I've bought from them, but still! I want max value for many dollars, and this isn't exactly top notch.
I'm selfish, but that's because no one else will be selfish for me. And we have to have our daily supplements.
Err, happy birthday to Barry. Or Baz. Or whatever.
I'm thinking of painting my nails black. Except I have no nail polish. Then again, I have considered getting my nipples pierced, and a tattoo down my back. Not to mention, I ALMOST considered joining National Service. So, that's kinda unlikely.
I just noticed I have visible biceps. Woohoo!
I like this shirt. I look really, err, chesty, in it. Hooray for optical illusions. Got lotsa second glances today, it's almost freaky.
Tomorrow is judgement day. In a way. I'm getting paranoid about having to live a life of insane boredom. Maybe I should become a serial killer.
I'm not a prejudiced person. My only prejudice is against stupid people. It just so happens that most people are stupid.
I feel like doing another lemon. And turning gay. Any guy out there want to smooch me?
This is such an excercise in freakishly un-me futility. Nothing I do is ever futile, because I make it a point to be sufficiently amused (usually in retrospect, unfortunately) by every single fucking thing I do. And last night was amazingly amusing, on the spot, no less. Went out for ice cream with Vic. Two guys, sitting in an ice cream parlour is kinda weird. Well, metrosexual, maybe. I dunno. Normally, the most 'feminine' thing we'd do is go for a coffee, and at that, not very female. But two guys, in an ice cream parlour (Baskin Robbins, no less) after 10. Hmm. And gossiping! Well, okay, more like conversation about OTHER people's love lives (gossip la). Gasp.
Ergh, getting fat again.
Strange, Vic's still not attached. I'd fuck him if I was a girl. Seriously.
Zhao is still obsessive. Like, he went around looking for, nevermind. But the thing was he dragged me along. He's lucky I found it all extremely amusing. Hilarious, in fact.
Hmm, there are streaks of blood across my hand. And they look recent.
I want a thousand bucks of chocolate. Or the alternative.
Meh.
